


Now my life is sweet like cinnamon,

by delightfuls



Category: The Last Hours Series - Cassandra Clare, The Shadowhunter Chronicles - Cassandra Clare
Genre: F/M, Literally just fluff which is very odd coming from me but I wanted some domestic fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:48:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25833025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/delightfuls/pseuds/delightfuls
Summary: “Is it such a crime to want to kiss my partner in the morning?” He yelled from the other side of the door.Or plotless domestic fluff featuring modern Cordelia and Matthew.
Relationships: Cordelia Carstairs/Matthew Fairchild
Comments: 4
Kudos: 17





	Now my life is sweet like cinnamon,

“You’re absolutely sick for doing that!” She shrieked, but Matthew was already 5 feet away from her, jumping off the bed to lock himself up in their washroom. 

“Is it such a crime to want to kiss my partner in the morning?” He yelled from the other side of the door. 

Cordelia pushed herself deep into the soft covers groaning, “yes, when your mouth reeks of morning breath!” She heard his muffled groan but decided it was best to ignore it; he was especially infuriating and convincing during mornings, slowly Cordelia dozed off into a light slumber. She was content within the sheets, the ever so soft sheets of their king size bed, up until she heard pots clanging and clattering below her. She groaned loud enough, so that he could hear, and suddenly the noise was gone, their flat quiet as ever, almost as if he had disappeared. Her eyes shot open at the quietness, her legs untangling themselves from her safe haven. As she made her way downstairs she was relieved to find that it had not been burned down, but then again Matthew was the only one of the pair that actually knew how to cook.   
  


Mother Carstairs had spent years trying to get her to cook, and even encouraged her to memorize recipes by heart but no matter the tears shed, and the sighs, Cordelia was just not a good cook. Which is a shame and a bane because her brother was so insufferably good at it. 

Her mother had been outraged by the fact that the man was the one cooking their meal when she had come to visit, but as soon as she stuck a spoonful of his food in her mouth, she did not say a word more. At the end of her visit she whispered 3 simple words; _ He’s a keeper. _ And that had made Cordelia’s heart soar; she knew that at the end of the day no one gets to critique the person you love, but something about her mother accepting Matthew finally made her happy. Matthew was  _ who he was, _ himself. A bit rough at his edges, but _ god _ was he brilliant, beautiful and kind.

  
Her mother had her doubts when Cordelia had mentioned they met when she bumped into him as she entered a local center for aid; she volunteered in the office, and he was fresh out of one of his A.A meetings. 

“What will  _ they _ think?” The older woman told her over tea, Cordelia remembers the nerves she felt as she told her mother, “Nothing _ Ma _ , nothing will be said, and if people whisper let them, I will not let them dictate my life like they did with  _ Baba _ when I was merely a child.” 

“He is not a bad man.” She told her mother as she recalled his crooked smile, when she picked up the sobriety chip that had fallen from his hands, alongside her own wallet. “2 years and more, going strong,” he had told her with a rather awkward thumbs up and a crooked grin, she had chuckled in response, and walked past him slowly giving him the time to stop her and ask her out for coffee. She remembered how from that day on he had greeted her everyday at the entrance of the center. She recalled his calloused hands intertwining with her own, when she carefully told him about her father. She remembered how he broke down, his head tucking into her stomach, his arms around her waist, “I endangered my mother’s life and cost her unborn daughter and my own sister.” 

Under her covers, or tangled up in his own, she whispered little nothings, dreams she had never said out loud, “I wish to travel the world,” She told him, as he looked at her, head propped up on his hand, while the fingers of his other hand caressed her cheek. Head on her chest, or nose tucked in the crook of her neck, he told her he wanted to be a seamster.

“Are you okay ‘Lia?” Said a voice that finally broke her out of her thoughts. Matthew. 

She gave him a genuine smile. “Yeah, I am you doofus, now what have you prepared for me and my royal appetite _peasant_?” She let out as she hopped onto one of the high chairs surrounding their kitchen table. 

His naked back was hunched over as he placed items onto the two plates, but he had stopped his movements when she called him a peasant. His back straightened, and not to be completely disrespectful at 9 in the morning, but a wave of pleasure dispersed across her body as the muscles at his shoulder blades tensed. 

“How did we go from ‘doofus’ to ‘peasant’ in a matter of seconds?” He questioned while turning to face her. She tried to school her face but she wasn’t fast enough. He went from being taken aback to cocky. He stared at her, not straying away from her gaze as he picked up a mug of coffee behind him. 

“Anything you want to tell me?” He asked. She decided to play along, slowly walking towards him, knowing full and well there was nothing sexy about her untended hair, raggedy tank top, and a pair of rather big pyjama bottoms, but then again _ men. _

She expected many things, him pinning her against the counter, and whispering very inappropriate things, him caressing her cheek, as she reached onto her tiptoes to kiss him. What she did not expect was for him to shove a handful of whipped cream into her face. 

She gasped, and moved away from him. He took that as a cue to reach for a strawberry and swipe it against the whipped cream on the tip of her nose. She was baffled at his bravery. 

“Hmm! Absolutely  _ scrumptious _ ,” he moaned, over exaggerating every syllable. She removed the whipped cream from her eyelids only to open her eyes and see him laughing, his whole body shaking. She was filled with rage and need for revenge and then the next thing she knew she was pouring down jam over his head. 

His mouth fell open, she responded to that by tilting her head to the side and offering him a wicked smile. In a moment he was pinning her against their counter, hands on her wrist. She sighed, “See  _ this _ is what I wanted to happen in the first place but instead you decided to be a smartass?”

“Cordelia Carstairs. I thought we knew the ground rules of this relationship. No. touching. Matthew’s. Beautiful. Golden. Locks.” He stared down at her, the jam dripping from his hair onto where her chest met his middle. 

She cocked her head to the right, suddenly getting an idea. “I could make it up to you, you know?” His gaze abruptly went up to her face, his eyes hopeful, as if she was  _ really _ going to help him fix his “25 step healthy hair program.”  _ As if _ . No, she had a better idea. “I could help you clean up,” she shrugged. 

He stepped back, turning his gaze towards the floor. “You know what that would be amazing actually, because there’s jam and whipped cream all across our floorboards and that cannot be good for it right?” He went on babbling about keeping their house clean, and neat to not diminish its rather old age and ancient history. She rolled her eyes before grabbing his face and sliding her tongue from the corner of his lips to his cheek. 

As she pulled away she made sure to lick her lips. He didn’t say anything for a second, he was still, his green eyes unreadable, before he suddenly grabbed her face with such force she almost lost her balance. His hands caressed both sides of her face, and hers went up to cover his, as if it were second nature to her body. She traced his veins with her thumbs, focusing on the thumping within them. 

“You are a very nasty person Cordelia Carstairs,” he told her, his voice practically dripping with want. She grinned sliding one of her hands down to his waist, and played with the waistband there. “I try.”

  
And that was the end of that conversation. Needless to say the jam on their precious floorboards went untouched for the following 4 hours. 

**Author's Note:**

> Just terrible this is terrible writing. For raven and fatima.
> 
> Not double checked or reviewed so all the mistakes are my laziness’s fault. Kudos and comments are appreciated though!


End file.
